ASilverMirror (6 page)

“We know each other very well indeed,” Barbara said, smiling
slightly now. “My father put my affairs into Sir Alphonse’s hands when he
brought me to France in 1253 and had to leave almost at once to join King Henry
in Gascony. And Sir Alphonse was always very kind to me, which is why I was so
surprised when he addressed me formally. Madame, indeed!”

“Good God, Barby, it is no sin to be polite,” John remarked,
but he spoke lightly, adding, “well then, I will leave you to renew your old
acquaintance while I go and tell Hugh my news.”

It was safe enough and might even be profitable to leave
them alone, John thought. Barbara’s voice and manner had become more cordial.
Barbara could charm birds off trees when she wanted. Without waiting to see if
either of them would object, John started toward a door at the back of the
room.

Barbara put out her hand. “Surely we are still good enough
friends for you to call me Barbe again?” she said.

She was very much ashamed of herself for jumping down
Alphonse’s throat. He had made it clear long ago that he did not return any
feeling warmer than friendship. It was not fair to blame him for being
distantly polite after her absence of seven years. The years had all dropped
away for her the moment she saw him, but she had no reason to be angry because
they had not dropped away for him.

“Of course,” Alphonse replied.

He was actually somewhat annoyed at her insistence on being
treated as an old friend. That would make it very difficult for him to avoid an
intimacy rapidly growing too painful to endure. Also, he would have liked to
know her current husband’s name in case the man had accompanied her. Alphonse
was afraid that if he did not prepare himself, he would take the man by the
throat instead of being polite when they met. His immediate problem, though,
was his need to discover if she was also Bigod’s guest. He was about to ask,
even if she thought him mad to do so, but she spoke first, suggesting that they
sit down and turning to her chair by the empty hearth.

He sat down opposite her, glad that his rear was less
bedaubed than his front, and remarked, “You will think me a fool for being so
surprised to see you that I did not hear what you said to John, but—”

“I was surprised too,” she said, “which was much more
foolish. I should have known you would be in Boulogne when I found King Louis
and Queen Marguerite here.”

As she cut off his second attempt to discover where she was
lodging and whether her husband was with her, Alphonse forgot all about how
much he desired Barbe and recalled instead how infuriating she could be. “I do
not always follow the court,” he pointed out. “And I have little interest in
English affairs because they usually do not affect my family. This time you
would not have seen me if John had not caught me in Paris just before I started
for home.”

“John? What have you to do with John?”

Alphonse cleared his throat, wondering uneasily how long he
would need to continue this inane conversation before he could either leave or
get back to the subject in which he was interested.

“It is rather complicated,” he said. “Raymond, my elder
brother, now Comte d’Aix, married an Englishwoman, Alys of Marlowe, and my
niece, Raymond’s eldest daughter—not Alys’s child—oh, curse it!”

“I am not sensitive about being a bastard,” Barbara
remarked, easily picking out the cause for his embarrassment over an otherwise
harmless statement. She also made herself smile, although she was hurt again
because he seemed to remember so little about her. “Whatever else he has done
right and wrong, at least my father made that easy for me.”

Alphonse shrugged. “We have talked about this before, and
you know I consider you very sensible—”

“You did remember!” Barbara exclaimed.

Alphonse smiled faintly, although he had to bite his tongue
to stop himself from calling her a fool for not seeing that he remembered
everything about her. Instead he raised his brows and said, “At least you are
sensible on that subject.”

Barbara was so shocked at the cruel reply, which seemed to
her a plain warning not to hope he cared about her, that she gasped. His voice
faltered, and he seemed about to say something more gentle. She feared she
would burst into tears if he did that, and turned her head away.

He seemed to understand, for after a brief check he rambled
on, “After all, the sin your father and mother committed is nothing whatsoever
to do with you. However, Fenice, my niece, married William’s son-by-law so that
my family is bound closely to the family at Marlowe. If you add to that the
fact that King Henry is our uncle-by-marriage—Raymond’s and mine, I mean—it was
natural for John to seek help from Raymond and for Raymond to ask me to do what
I could not only for William and Aubery but for Henry’s cause too.”

“I hope no help will be needed,” Barbara said. “I have just
come—the day before yesterday—from England. The Earl of Leicester has sent proposals
for peace. If they are accepted this long misery will be over.”

She was able to speak quite calmly by then. Barbara had made
little sense of what Alphonse said, but his explanation had given her time to
recover. He was not cruel, she told herself. Alphonse was never cruel. He was
trying to protect her from herself, as he had all those years ago when she had
flung herself at him. She had not known then that half the ladies of the court,
some of them great heiresses, panted after him like bitches in heat because he
was one of the great tourney champions, and was said to be as skillful with his
lance in bed as on the tourney field. If she had only known, but no one had
spoken of such things to her. They had thought her a child because her breasts
had not yet budded, and she had not guessed how he drew women because he was
not particularly handsome.

If she had known, Barbara reminded herself, she would have
understood he acted out of simple kindness, a desire to comfort one he thought
of as a child, when he supported her through her first misery of being, as she
believed however wrongly, cast away by her father. Barbara now knew she had
interpreted wrongly Alphonse’s reasons for explaining that only great love and
fear for her safety had forced her father to leave her with Queen Marguerite.
But in 1253, as she recovered from the shock of being “abandoned” in the French
court, she had assumed she had been sent there to be married. And, because her
father said he was placing her affairs in Alphonse’s hands and that she was to
go to Alphonse for help if she needed it, she also assumed that if she liked
Alphonse, he would be chosen as her husband. He had even carried her sleeve in
a tourney and given her the prize—her silver mirror.

He had not even laughed at her when she offered her love,
only said gently that he could never look so high for a wife, for she was an
earl’s daughter and he only a landless younger son. She was to have a much
better husband than he, he had told her then, a rich count who would settle on
her her mother’s lands. Kind. Alphonse was always kind. It would have been far
better for her if he had not spared her feelings but laughed and called her a
fool as her father would have done.

Chapter Four

“My dear Sieur Alphonse, do forgive me for not coming out to
welcome you as soon as John told me you were here, but I was so eager to hear
his news that I took for granted your good nature.”

Hugh Bigod’s voice interrupted Alphonse’s surprise at
Barbara’s statement, which seemed to imply, no matter how unlikely, that she
had brought peace terms to Hugh from England. Both he and Barbara stood up, and
as Hugh took his hand, he made a polite disclaimer of any offense taken.
However, before he could say that he was sure Hugh’s house was too crowded to absorb
another unexpected guest, Bigod pressed his forearm and turned to smile at
Barbara, saying, “I will keep the new arguments against Leicester’s proposals
Queen Eleanor has sent, if that will not inconvenience her.” He shrugged and
added, “I will need some time to find answers that will content her.”

“You may keep them. I am sure those copies are for you, but
is there something I can tell her that will induce her not to insult
Leicester’s emissaries? I do not think any harm will be done to Prince Edward,
but I do believe that total confiscation of property and other very harsh
measures will be taken against Leicester’s enemies if arbitration for peace is
not begun.”

Hugh sighed. “I can think of any number of things I would
like
to tell her, but—”

“Uncle!”

Barbara’s lips curved with amusement at the exasperation in
Hugh’s voice and Alphonse set his teeth. He had forgotten something about his
Barbe. He had forgotten how sensual her mouth looked when a half-smile bowed
the lips, or he had never noticed before. There were so many reasons to want
her, like the obvious lighthearted mockery behind her now solemn expression.

“I shall tell the queen that you do not consider me fit to
carry messages.”

“Do not you dare!” Hugh exclaimed, half laughing and half
concerned. “Eleanor will not realize you are accusing me of thinking all women
empty-headed. Our poor queen has had too many shocks and sorrows, love. Her
sense of humor is sadly worn away. She might think I meant that you were a
rebel at heart and not trustworthy.”

This time Barbara sighed. “I fear she thinks that already
and has invited me to join her household so that she can watch me.”

Bigod frowned. “You must not allow your sympathy for Eleanor
to bind you to her if—”

Barbara laughed, interrupting him. “Uncle, you always see
the best in me. I am not nearly so self-sacrificing as you believe.”

“Then accept Queen Marguerite’s invitation,” Bigod urged. “I
understand she has offered you a place with her. You will be more comfortable
in the French court where Leicester has as many friends as King Henry. I would
have you here, love, but Queen Eleanor would take offense.”

“I may join Queen Marguerite,” Barbara temporized, not yet
willing to commit herself. “But so far I have mostly been with Prince Edward’s
wife, and you know what a sweet soul she is. Princess Eleanor is frightened,
too, since Edward offered to be hostage for his father’s behavior. She needs
someone a bit livelier than the lachrymose ladies the queen has appointed to
attend her.”

A desire to attend Prince Edward’s wife, young Eleanor of
Castile, was a reason no one would question for Barbara to remain nominally a
member of Queen Eleanor’s household. Hugh Bigod’s expression softened
immediately, as Barbara had known it would. Everyone adored the gentle Castilian
princess and wished to make as easy as possible her exile and her separation
from the husband she so obviously worshiped. And what Barbara said was
perfectly true, but she had other reasons for wishing to delay her decision
about whether to remain where she was or move to Queen Marguerite’s household.
Her father would expect her to garner information, and Barbara did not yet know
whether what she could learn in the English or the French queen’s household
would be more useful. Nor, though she wished to serve her father, was she at
all certain she wished to be useful to Leicester’s cause.

Her other reason for indecision had a sudden broad smile on
his face that Barbara could not at first understand. Then she realized Alphonse
expected to stay with her uncle, and was pleased to learn that he would not
need to share a lodging with her.

“Well Uncle,” she said, “I have stayed long enough for a
loving reunion and for you to decide that the questions raised by the queen are
too weighty to be answered without long consideration. It is time for me to go
back.”

Hugh drew her to him and kissed her fondly. “I would bid you
stay longer but perhaps young Eleanor needs you. John will see you safe, love,
and you can tell Queen Eleanor that he is returned from Aix. If she wishes to
speak to him, John can explain better than I could what the Comte d’Aix can and
cannot do.” He looked purposefully at John, who had groaned. “You can explain
how Lord Raymond’s hands are tied by the fact that Marlowe, his
father-by-marriage, is a prisoner and might be mistreated in revenge for any
overt action on Lord Raymond’s part.” John groaned again, and Bigod smiled very
slightly. “You can also point out that Sieur Alphonse has already come to
discover whether William of Marlowe can be freed for ransom.”

“Ransom?” John echoed. “But Richard of Cornwall must already
have offered to pay my father’s ransom, and my father no doubt refused to leave
him. It is my brother Aubery who will need ransom.”

“Why did I teach you to be so honest?” Hugh sighed. “If you
are not asked a question, do not answer it. Doubtless Queen Eleanor will be
glad to hear that the Comte d’Aix favors us enough to send his brother to help
us.”

“You had better phrase that another way, John,” Alphonse
said. “Raymond and I are both Queen Eleanor’s nephews, after all. Say Alys has
made herself ill and forced Raymond to promise he would do nothing to endanger
her father.”

“I will step on John’s toes if he opens his mouth too wide,”
Barbara said. And then to John, “Come along.”

Usually John was impervious to her teasing and temper, and
Barbara did not give him a thought during the time it took the servants to
bring their horses and for them to ride farther up the hill toward the castle.
Before Barbara realized how rude she had been, she and John had reached the
area between the castle walls and the church which enclosed several houses.
These had been lent to Queen Eleanor when it was known that Edward’s wife,
Princess Eleanor, and a party of her servants would join the English queen in
Boulogne. When she had spoken as if John were a feebleminded child, Barbara had
been aware only of her need to get away, to be free of the flickering glances
Alphonse cast at her. She did not understand why he should look at her as if he
could not help it and then pull his eyes away, but she felt those glances, like
butterfly touches on her skin, although no physical source for the sensation
existed.

It only occurred to Barbara as John helped her down from her
mare and told the groom who took the horses to unsaddle her mount, but not his,
that he had not said a word to her all the time they waited for their horses at
Hugh’s house and rode through the town. The knowledge that she had offended him
lowered her spirits even further. It took considerable effort not to burst into
tears, but that would have made John feel worse. And it was not John’s fault
that Alphonse found her company unpleasant, Barbara reminded herself severely,
even if John had brought him to Boulogne.

“Do not be angry with me, John,” she said, touching his arm
as they walked toward Queen Eleanor’s lodging. “I did not mean to offend you. I
am out of sorts.”

“I am aware of it,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Are you
worse off here than you wanted Hugh to know?”

“You mean is the queen unkind to me? No. I told the truth
about being much with Edward’s wife, Princess Eleanor.”

John stared at her for a moment and then drew her around
beside the stone stair where they were half hidden. “I know something is eating
you, Barby. If I can help, let me know. I am as eager as you to spare Hugh any
further worry, although your good news about his wife and his lands has made a
new man of him. It is kind of your father to protect Joanna and try to save
Hugh loss when they have been so sharply at odds for so long.”

Barbara laughed. “Oh, Papa loves Hugh,” she said, while
looking around for anyone close enough to overhear, and continuing in a lower
voice when it was clear no one was interested in them. “But it is not all for
love that he acted. Do not underestimate my father because he has a red face
and a loud voice. He is a clever man, and subtle. Do you not see that he has
put Hugh under a deep obligation? By shielding Hugh’s wife and lands from any
threat of harm, thus tying Leicester’s hands with regard to any hold on Hugh,
Papa has made
himself
guilty of any act against Leicester Hugh might
commit. How eager do you think Hugh will be to take part in an invasion of
England when he knows his brother is likely to lose his own lands if he does?”

“By God’s—”

Barbara’s hand flashed up and stopped John’s mouth. “Do not
blaspheme!” she hissed. “King Louis is a little mad on the subject of
dismembering the Lord to express surprise or disapproval and does not hesitate
to order a whipping for the highest lord as well as the meanest peasant.
Usually out of his hearing none pay mind to his harmless lunacy, except those
who desire a mean revenge on some enemy and carry an accusation to his
proctors, but Leicester’s friends watch to carry word to Louis of any fault in
King Henry’s supporters, and of course Queen Eleanor’s friends watch
Leicester’s friends, and—”

John took her hand away from his mouth. “I will be careful.
I should have remembered the trouble we had over blasphemers during the peace
negotiation in 1257.” Then he looked quizzically at Barbara. “Thank you for
warning me, and for pointing out your father’s purpose. With whom do
you
stand, Barbara?”

“With Joanna,” she said sharply, “and Princess Eleanor and
all women who are driven from their homes with their babes in their arms
because you men cannot decide how best a realm should be ruled.” She bit her
lip. “Come, let us go in before I scold you again for what is not your fault.
You have told me already that you do not follow your own will in this matter.”

Barbara turned away quickly, wondering if John had guessed
her passionate answer, though not a lie, was not all the truth. How could she
tell the truth, she thought as she climbed the stair to the open door of the
great hall, when she did not herself know where her loyalty lay? King Henry was
impossible, generating debts and confusion and injustice, yet to have him ruled
by Leicester as she had seen him in London surely was a sin against the sacred
order God had established. Her father had been as uneasy about it as she.

The steward’s clerk, who had been writing on a small lap
desk near one of the two windows, looked up when the voices of the ladies near
the other window stilled briefly. He set aside his work and came to meet
Barbara and John as they entered the hall, squinting because they were hardly
more than silhouettes. The light from the small windows gave poor definition
against the brighter light that came in from the open doorway behind them.
However, he slowed his hurried stride when he recognized John as Hugh Bigod’s
man and offered a polite greeting. Barbara recited her message, that her uncle
craved some time to examine the queen’s suggestions and begged Eleanor not to
take any action until he could talk with her.

She pretended she did not see the way the clerk’s mouth
tightened, simply going on smoothly to throw John to the wolf by saying he had
come with news from Aix. After all, Queen Eleanor could not really eat John, no
matter how furious she was with him for telling her that Raymond was not about
to appear with a huge army or large chests of gold with which to hire
mercenaries. The queen had no power over John, and he could go back to relative
peace in her uncle’s house. On the other hand, the poor clerk might be devoured
alive for announcing that Hugh Bigod had not come to support Eleanor’s attempt
to circumvent any hope of peace.

As the clerk, with a much lightened countenance, turned away
toward the circular stair behind the eating dais that led to the solar, John
said softly, “The poor devil looked quite frightened when you told him Hugh was
not coming. Is the queen so much changed?”

“You have not seen her?”

“No. I left for Aix before she arrived in Boulogne.”

Barbara nodded but did not answer at once, moving to stand
in the window behind the bench where the clerk had been working, well away from
the ladies and passing servants. “She has not accepted this last turn of
fortune very easily,” she murmured to John, who had followed her. “For one
thing, she blames herself for the battle at Lewes and its outcome. I believe
she had been writing letters urging Henry to take stronger action against those
who opposed him.”

“What a fool!” John muttered. “She has too much Provençal
pride. What leader did she think we had to stand up against Leicester?”

“Prince Edward.”

“Not until he learns to control his temper,” John said
furiously. “If Edward had not been so desirous of avenging the insult the
Londoners gave his mother that he chased them for hours, leaving our flank
naked—”

He stopped and swallowed and Barbara put a hand on his and
squeezed. The clerk was approaching, beckoning to John. “I will leave you
then,” Barbara said.

John cast an astonished look at her, and Barbara remembered
she had implied she would accompany him into the queen’s presence when she said
she would step on his toes if he opened his mouth too wide. He had no doubt
been counting on her to do just that, not perhaps step on his toes but to warn
him subtly if he was saying what he should not and he had expected her to ask
the clerk if she could accompany him. But Barbara felt she could not. She had
kept her personal distress submerged, but Queen Eleanor was sure to ask about
Alphonse, and Barbara did not feel able to talk about him, or even listen to
John and the queen talk about him, without bursting into tears. She had to be
alone to consider what she should do about Alphonse.